Meeting with the Manchu Khan
“It hurts. It hurts so much.”
“Your Majesty. Is something troubling you?”
He responded to my nonsense without a second’s delay. Was this the power that came with the office of eunuch?
“Eunuch Kim. My heart is in agony. Please… please make the paper critiques stop…”
“If Your Majesty simply gives the command, I can have every article taken down, but…”
The earnestness in Eunuch Kim’s voice snapped me back to my senses.
“Even then, there’s no way to sweep up everything already spreading across the internet. And it would only look like I was trying to silence people, which I don’t care for. I’ll just… have to endure it myself…”
Seeing my look of resigned enlightenment, Eunuch Kim quietly nodded.
“So… what do you think, Eunuch Kim? Do you believe my apology was the right thing to do?”
“A eunuch must always follow His Majesty’s will. It is not his place to form judgments of right or wrong.”
“Then you can at least analyze the fallout from today’s events, can’t you?”
Eunuch Kim fell silent for a moment before speaking.
“Not much time has passed yet, but the majority of public opinion is favorable.”
“‘Majority’ means there are some who aren’t, then.”
“Yes. Among certain conservative circles who believe the Imperial House had no need to bow its head, and among members of the Imperial family at the Jongbusa, talk has begun.”
The Jongbusa was, simply put, the clan association of the Korean Empire’s Imperial House in this twenty-first century. It belonged to the Palace Administration, yet its actual work amounted to little more than elderly gentlemen gathering to tidy the genealogy and decide the next generational character. Beyond that, their only other pastime was occasionally grumbling when the Emperor’s conduct failed to please them.
“Tell the elders of the Jongbusa that I understand. Once this matter blows over, nothing will come of it.”
Had I been a direct descendant of the previous Emperor, I might have gone and bowed my head to the familiar elders of the family. But the direct line had been wiped out in the plane crash, and I had inherited the throne by accident as a collateral branch. So the “admonitions of the Jongbusa” carried no particular weight with me.
No different from those distant relatives you only see on holidays and would rather not.
If I refused to see their faces, what could they possibly do about it? By degrees of kinship I could have married any one of those old men’s granddaughters without anyone batting an eye.
“Ah. And one of the senators has requested an audience.”
“A senator?”
“Yes. Aisin Gioro Yuseo, leader of the Manchu National Freedom Party and a member of the Senate, has requested a meeting.”
“An audience with the former Manchu Khan… I always expected we would meet someday, but I never thought he would ask for it so soon.”
“The timing can be adjusted.”
Hmm… Still, better to declare a hiatus for the day and handle everything at once.
Sorry, readers. That’s just how it is.
Today Author Lee Myeongbok has been forced to take a break due to family matters. Those Jongbusa elders counted as family, and Aisin Gioro was practically a relative by marriage, wasn’t he?
“No, that won’t be necessary. A man of his age—I can’t keep him waiting.”
Aisin Gioro Yuseo was an old man past seventy and nearing eighty, yet his eyes had always burned with the intensity of flame.
The older I grow, the more the past crowds in.
The old man closed his eyes for a moment.
Born a prince of a hollow Manchukuo, he could have lived out his days in comfort within the Shenyang palace. Yet the things he had seen and endured in the Imperial Capital (Seoul) in his youth had driven him to devote his life to solving the problems of the Manchu people—the Empire’s “ethnic minority.”
At thirty he earned a law degree from Imperial University and qualified as a lawyer. Leaving Shenyang, dominated by ethnic Koreans, he moved his home to Changchun, where Manchus formed the majority. There he offered free legal aid to those oppressed by the Korean majority.
Five years into that work, when his name began to spread as far as Shenyang itself, the royal pension was cut off. It did not matter. His Manchu brethren gladly provided him an office in which to write, and though the food was never lavish, they kept his belly full.
At forty-one a case born of ethnic discrimination reached the Supreme Court. His logic was flawless and the evidence ironclad. Yet the Court sided with the High Court. There was no justice in the law. A massive protest erupted in Changchun; the only answer was merciless violence. The method had to change.
At forty-two he gathered every countryman who had entered the legal profession. They all agreed: if the law was wrong, the law itself must be changed. The lawyer’s office, reeking of mildew, became the party headquarters that very day.
At forty-five they won seats. Only a handful in Changchun and its environs, and a mere three in the Senate—yet he and his Manchu brethren embraced and wept with joy.
At forty-eight his father died. The man had spent his life as a puppet of the Yi emperors, yet he had quietly supported his son’s work. Now the puppet’s yoke was to pass to him. Because an heir to the throne could not participate in politics, his seat fell vacant at once.
At fifty-two he tried to use the position of Manchu Khan to help his people as much as possible, only to be accused of squandering the privy purse. News that the Manchu Khan had committed accounting fraud blanketed the entire Empire. An agent of the Jeguk Ikmunsa sought him out and secretly conveyed the Emperor’s will.
Hmph. Did they think that would make me give up?
At fifty-five, only after he knelt in the snow at Gwanghwamun with an axe in his hands did he finally secure a private audience with the Emperor. The Emperor asked why he expended such effort when in thirty years there would be no such thing as a Manchu left. He asked what the man wanted.
He begged to be allowed to abdicate the throne. The Emperor looked at him with weary disgust. Yuseo was just as sick of the world.
At fifty-eight he at last abdicated in favor of his nephew. The seat had been nothing but a burden. The party headquarters he returned to after twelve years was larger and cleaner than before. In the Assembly he rejoiced in reunion with his comrades.
At sixty a coalition with the Liberal Party brought various achievements large and small, yet the lives of his countrymen remained largely unchanged. There was still so much left to do.
At sixty-one a new Emperor expressed a desire to speak with him. He went willingly to Gyeongbokgung. He had wondered whether this one might be different. He was the same as all the rest. Yuseo spat on the ground at Gwanghwamun. The detention cell he entered after so long was now a warm ondol room—human rights, they said, had become important.
At sixty-five a triumph was won in Manchuria. Ethnic Koreans among the party membership gradually increased. The newspapers began calling them a regional party of Manchuria.
At sixty-six the verdict of twenty-five years earlier was officially recognized as unjust. A Special Law for Ethnic Minorities passed the Assembly. All that remained was the struggle with the Imperial House.
At sixty-eight the question of an imperial apology split the party. Those who said the time had come for politics rather than struggle peeled away—or more precisely, were driven out. He felt no sorrow, only regret.
At seventy-three he fell ill. Old comrades and even his middle-aged nephew came to urge him to rest. He refused.
At seventy-seven the publisher of a newspaper he knew carefully suggested he attend the venue of the Emperor’s address. The Emperor was young—almost a child—and looked frail. Sure enough, after finishing his speech he unseemly shed tears.
Who was it that said seventy-seven was the age of joyous longevity? The saying proved true. One had to live long enough to see such things. He telephoned the former Jeguk Ikmunsa agent he had once known—who had somehow risen all the way to director—and was told an audience with the Emperor could be arranged.
He did not refuse.
Aisin Gioro Yuseo opened the eyes he had kept closed for so long.
It was time to meet the young Emperor.
“It is an honor to meet you like this.”
“Heh heh. What honor is there in meeting an old man like me?”
“You are a man who dedicated his entire life to the great cause of ending ethnic inequality. How could it not be an honor?”
“Hah. Laying the gold leaf on thick for an old fellow, aren’t you?”
Face to face, Aisin Gioro Yuseo was more courteous than I had expected. Yet the years that had earned him the name “Wolf of Manchuria” had not vanished; even beneath the gentle expression and manner, the atmosphere of a life spent in harsh struggle could not be erased.
“I was told the former Manchu Khan requested a meeting with me. If it is not impertinent, may I ask the reason for this request?”
“A meeting, not an audience. Indeed, Your Majesty is truly different from all the others.”
“Such expressions feel a little burdensome to me…”
“Heh… Does the throne weigh heavily upon Your Majesty?”
“It does. It is a seat I never once imagined occupying. The whole world attaches meaning to my every action—it is exhausting. Originally I was nothing more than a wastrel, after all.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty possesses the makings of a sage king. This old man has, by hearing those words today, fulfilled the wish of a lifetime.”
Aisin Gioro Yuseo bowed deeply to me on the spot.
“Elder, why are you bowing…?”
“Haha! ‘Elder’! The Sovereign of All Under Heaven calls me ‘Elder’! Truly this year of my life is the age of joyous longevity! Your Majesty, never lose that heart!”
Aisin Gioro Yuseo made a long, formal bow and then took his leave.
What was that? Scaring a person for no reason…
Not long afterward I received a large hanging scroll as a gift.
Rule of Non-Action
Hmm… Would it be all right to hang this in my room? Is it okay?